


All The Little Moments In Time

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Wendigo, background Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura - Freeform, emissary stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7984183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking back, they should've known from the start that something had changed when Derek came home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Little Moments In Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoy :)
> 
> It's sort of almost a flashback thing. It goes from present scenes to various past scenes, just in case that's unclear.

There was something soothing about it, he decided there in the dirt. Sure, he felt like he was disintegrating from the inside out and his vision was blurring in and out and he couldn’t connect any of the sounds he heard to anything he could see, but it didn’t bother him much. It was detached from him, until he was left in his own calm little bubble in the center of it all, and at the same time far away.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

They’d gone in with a plan, and for the most part, it went almost exactly as it was supposed to. Stiles liked to think it was because he had been the one to come up with it, rather than let Derek charge in headlong or Scott try negotiating without caution. Stiles’ plan was to trap it, hear what it had to say, and deal with it based off of what it was there for. It allowed for Scott to have his peace talk, and if all went wrong, for Derek to get his claws into something and tear it apart. They’d come a long way from the Derek who used to throw people onto floors or push them around or slam their heads into steering wheels, but he was still a more physical guy. Leaving with Braeden in South America hadn’t done anything to change that. He wasn’t angry (or not as much), but he still liked to hit things, which was why Stiles had given him a punching bag for Christmas when he came back.

 

The first part of the plan had gone well. Stiles met it (a wendigo) in the middle of the preserve two miles away from the nearest populated area. Well, “met” meant that he lured it into a clearing lined with mountain ash and closed the line as soon as it was inside. “It” was a she. And she stood calmly in the middle, watching Stiles as the rest of the pack crept up around the circle.

 

“What’s your business here?” Scott asked, tone cautious but unthreatening.

 

“Well, I did intend to eat your friend here,” she answered. Her voice carried a strange lilt to it, like she was from somewhere else. “I realize now that he’s more of an…emissary, is it called? It’s been quite a while since I came across a werewolf pack. Though,” she added with a laugh, “I see you’re not just made up of wolves.” Her eyes slid over them all, from Derek and Liam and Scott and Isaac, to Lydia and Malia standing just behind Stiles, to Kira, katana drawn and at the ready. “No wonder they tell such stories about Beacon Hills. I just wanted to see for myself, but your townspeople are…appealing.”

 

A low growl built in Derek’s throat when her gaze returned to Stiles, her mouth curving into a grin. She stepped forward as close to the barrier as she could, until they were only a foot and a thin line of ash apart. “I wonder what magic would taste like,” she said softly, tilting her head and regarding him with a wicked glint in her eyes.

 

Stiles held her gaze steadily. “I think you should be wondering how you’re going to get out of here,” he told her. “Your odds aren’t looking so good.”

 

Her teeth flashed in fading light of the sun, suddenly much sharper. “You haven’t met many of my kind, have you?” She seemed to be stretching, though she didn’t grow any taller.

 

“Well, it’s actually kind of one of your kind’s fault that I’m a wolf,” Liam piped up. “I was pretty pissed off about it for awhile.”

 

She spread her arms wide, taking a few steps back into the circle. “Well then. Why don’t you do something about that?”

 

“We’re giving you a chance,” Scott said firmly. “Leave Beacon Hills, or you won’t walk away at all.”

 

“And what are you going to do about that?” she said mockingly. “You can’t cross this barrier any more than I can. The only ones that can are the ones that I can rip apart without any effort at all. And really, none of them are anything more than human.”

 

She whirled around as Kira stepped into the circle, but Stiles said, “That’s where you’re wrong,” and pushed his hands apart to break the line. All the werewolves lunged at once.

 

It was at this point that things began to go wrong.

 

She was much faster than she should’ve been, winding her way around the pack like she was toying with them. She sank her teeth into Derek’s arm and tore a hole down to the bone. He roared with pain and managed to slice across her face with his claws, but by then she had let go and was moving away to confront Liam and Isaac a few feet away. She was ripping through them in a second, claws and teeth everywhere, and Lydia suddenly screamed so loudly that Stiles felt like he might die.

 

“No,” he decided, and focused everything he had toward the wendigo, who was about to rip Isaac’s heart from his chest. Someone yelled his name, but he was already whispering the words that would turn her body to dust and obliterate her soul from existence.

 

He heard an unearthly shriek before his entire body just went limp. From the corner of his eye he watched the wendigo disintegrate over Isaac until there was nothing left but swirling ash, and then his vision began to phase out.

 

Which led them to here. “ _Stiles_ ,” a shadow above him was saying urgently. “Stiles, you fucking idiot, don’t go to sleep, god dammit.” Derek, he thought vaguely. It made sense. Scott wouldn’t curse at him like that while he was hurt, and Derek had never really gotten rid of the idea that Stiles wasn’t as strong as the rest of the pack. “Oh my god I never said that,” Derek growled, and suddenly the ground wasn’t there anymore. “Scott, I’m taking him to Deaton.”

 

“Shouldn’t Kira or I…?” Lydia, Stiles remembered blearily.

 

“I’m taking him,” Derek snarled, and his voice was closer than before. Right next to Stiles’ ear. He’d be more worried about the lack of personal space if his body wasn’t numb and he wasn’t in a pack of _werewolves_ , for Christ’s sake. They truly were part wolf in nature, Derek more so than any of the others. “You never shut up,” he heard Derek sigh as if from underwater, and oh. He was talking out loud. It didn’t really surprise him that much.

 

He drifted for a few minutes, or maybe more, he couldn’t really tell what was happening outside of his little bubble. He could hear Derek muttering something under his breath, sounding a strange mixture of afraid and exasperated, and it was so Derek that he had to laugh. It hurt his chest and made him feel even weaker, but he thought he saw the corner of Derek’s mouth twitch just a little.

 

But they were at Deaton’s suddenly, and he could feel the prick of a needle inside of his arm, which he protested weakly. Derek hushed him, but he was smoothing a hand over Stiles’ head, so he didn’t really think he meant it. “That was an incredibly dangerous move, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton was saying, and he sounded clearer than before, so maybe Stiles was getting better. “It would’ve taken less energy just to stop her heart. To wipe her from existence altogether…you’re lucky you’re alive.”

 

“She was gonna kill Isaac,” Stiles mumbled, letting his head loll to the side so he could squint at Deaton. “And she ripped you open,” he added accusingly at Derek, who ceased petting his hair and looked down at his arm in surprise.

 

“I forgot,” Derek said uncertainly. It was mostly closed up now, the muscle and skin having stitched itself back together, but there was still blood streaked down to his wrist and covering his hand. Then he glared down at Stiles. “”Don’t change the subject.”

 

“Well I’m sorry I care about you, dumbass,” Stiles shot back, but he knew how weak he sounded. When Derek went back to touching his hair though, he decided not to care that much. He looked back at Deaton instead. “I’ll be able to go to work tomorrow, right?”

 

Deaton chuckled softly. “I don’t think you should be home alone for a few days, Stiles. Your body is going to need time to recover from this. Work is absolutely out of the question.”

 

“But I have a lecture,” Stiles tried to argue.

 

“I’ll take care of it,” Deaton assured him. “Derek, can you get him to his father’s house?”

 

“He can come home with me,” Derek said decisively. “I’ll be at the house this week anyways.” Deaton nodded, gave some instructions that Stiles didn’t really pay much attention to, and suddenly they were back in what he realized now was his Jeep, which had somehow managed to survive the last eight years of supernatural crap they’d been through. He thought he might have said something along those lines, because Derek shot him a look that managed to be fond and angry at the same time.

 

“You’re going to yell at me about this later, aren’t you,” he grumbled as Derek lifted him up and carried him into the house, ignoring the curtains that twitched next door. “Mrs. Putnam is watching again.”

 

“I haven’t decided yet,” Derek replied. “And let her. She doesn’t trust me anyways. Former convicted felon and all.”

 

“That was eight years ago.”

 

“I don’t think that matters much to her.”

 

“Bitchy elderly people,” Stiles muttered. He wriggled a little as they finally stepped inside. “I can walk now.” Derek set him carefully on his feet, and Stiles took a few confident steps before stumbling into the wall. He could feel Derek shaking with silent laughter when he stepped forward to hook an arm around Stiles’ waist and help him over to the couch. Stiles ignored him.

 

“So you’re going to drive me to work tomorrow right?” he said hopefully instead. Derek’s side-eyes told him all he needed to know.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

The house had come about when Derek returned from South America, just before everyone’s last year of college. From what he told the pack, it seemed like he hadn’t quite fit in with Cora’s pack, and Braeden was good but too calculated, always focused on her job, in a way that reminded him too much of Peter in the long run. So he came back to Beacon Hills and bought a house in a neighborhood at the edge of town, settling in completely before anyone realized he was back at all.

 

It was actually a complete accident. Stiles came into the station to bring his dad lunch like he always did during summer vacation, and there Derek was, settling a few things with Deputy Parrish. Stiles stared at him, and Derek stared back, until Parrish said something along the lines of, “Well, this is sufficiently awkward. I’m gonna…” But before he could make an exit, Stiles turned his back on Derek and walked straight into his dad’s office, giving him his lunch and talking for a few minutes about the job offer he’d gotten at the library for the summer from their neighbor Rosa. He could feel Derek looking at him through the window the whole time, but he didn’t acknowledge him again, leaving without a second glance. He almost called Scott when he got back to his Jeep, but decided against it, and was about to drive off when Derek burst out of the building.

 

He climbed right into the passenger side of the Jeep and said, “I didn’t think college would make you such an asshole.”

 

“Oh, hey there, Derek,” Stiles said sarcastically. “I didn’t recognize you without the leather jacket.”

 

“It’s at my house,” was the automatic response, and Derek blinked like that hadn’t been what he meant to say.

 

Stiles frowned. “Malia and Isaac are living in the loft though.”

 

“I bought a house,” Derek clarified, but he still looked like this wasn’t going the way he’d thought it would.

 

“How long have you been in town?” Stiles exclaimed.

 

“About a month.”

 

Stiles nodded slowly, then started the Jeep and looked straight out the windshield. “Alright then. Well, it’s been nice seeing you, but I’ve got places to be, so if you’d kindly vacate my car, that’d be great.”

 

Derek’s jaw dropped just a little. “Stiles, what the hell?”

 

Stiles leaned over and opened the passenger side door, refusing to look at Derek as he did so. “I’m not asking again.” He kept his gaze pointedly averted even as Derek grabbed his wrist so he couldn’t pull back enough to get his hands on the wheel. “Derek, I mean it. Get out.”

 

“No,” Derek said stubbornly. “Why are you being such a dick? That’s supposed to be my job.”

 

“Someone had to take that over, since you left,” Stiles retorted. “Seriously? You’ve been back here for a month, you’ve bought a freaking house, and you haven’t found the time to, I don’t know, show up in someone’s window or even leave a freaking note in the mailbox? Scratch a message into the front door?” He wrenched his arm away angrily. “Isn’t there some sort of werewolf code that at least requires you to tell Scott that you’re back in his territory?”

 

Derek lowered his eyes. “I did. I asked him not to tell anyone that I was back yet. I didn’t know that I was going to stay.” He sounded a little desperate, like there was something Stiles wasn’t getting, but he was too pissed off to care right then.

 

“I have to go,” he said.

 

“Stiles, you were my first stop, as soon as I was settled in. But I had to wait until you got home from school and you haven’t been home the last few days. I’ve been looking for you all over the place.” He was starting to sound just as furious about all of this as Stiles. “Why are you so angry about this?”

 

And Stiles didn’t really have an answer for that. “You just…you caught me off guard,” he said quietly, all of the animosity leaking from his voice. “It’s been four years, Derek. Scott’s gotten a couple of postcards from you and that’s it. None of us thought you were coming back.”

 

“Well I did.” Stiles made eye contact and saw a mix of confusion and hurt there that didn’t match his irritated tone.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Derek sighed. “Me too. I just didn’t want to tell anyone I was here if I was going to leave again.”

 

Stiles nodded. “I really do have to go. I’ve got some stuff to fill out so I can start working at the library tomorrow morning.”

 

Derek hesitated, opened the door again to get out, and at the last second reached back and gripped Stiles’ shoulder hard. “It’s good to see you, Stiles.”

 

Stiles smiled. “You too.”

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Stiles said, just barely catching the sweatpants and t-shirt that Derek threw at him to wear. “You don’t have to give me your bed man, I know how you feel about that stuff. You almost ripped Scott’s head off when he fell asleep in here that one time.”

 

“I’m not giving you my bed,” Derek said, stripping his own shirt off before crossing the hall into the bathroom, where the shower started running a second later. “Deaton said I shouldn’t let you sleep more than a few hours at a time for the next couple of nights. This’ll be easier than having to get up and go downstairs to the living room and have to walk all the way back up.”

 

“Deaton is overreacting about all of this. I’m fine, I’m just a little worn out.”

 

“A little worn out?” Derek came back into the room to stare at him in disbelief. “Stiles, you nearly killed yourself doing that.”

 

Stiles tried very hard to ignore the fact that Derek wasn’t wearing anything except for boxers anymore, and that there was dried blood crusting on his stupidly muscled stomach. “Shouldn’t you be showering?” he said, hoping Derek would leave before he realized that Stiles was kind of enjoying the view more than he should.

 

“We’re not done talking about this,” Derek sighed, turning to go again. “And don’t change yet. You’re taking a bath when I’m done.”

 

“I haven’t had a bath since the second grade!” Stiles called after him.

 

“Tough shit!”

 

Stiles groaned.

 

He had to admit that Derek had a point twenty minutes later though, when he had to lean on him to walk the short distance from the edge of the bed to the bathtub, where Derek rid him of his shirt and pants before Stiles managed to push him away. “I think I can get my own clothes off,” he said, avoiding the glint of amusement in Derek’s eye. “You can just go wait out there. And shut the door.” Derek was smirking, but he left anyways, closing the door softly behind him. Stiles finished undressing and eased himself into the tub as best he could when his arms felt like noodles. For a few minutes he just relaxed into the hot water, wishing he could drift to sleep like this, but when he opened his eyes he could see the water already darkening with the dirt and god-knew-what-else on his skin, so he scrubbed his hair with Derek’s shampoo and did his best to clean up without moving too much.

 

He got dressed with sheer willpower alone, but he only managed to make it to Derek’s doorway before he had to stop and just cling to the frame, trying not to look too pathetic. He could feel his eyelids drooping again, and everything was starting to sound faint, but an arm looped around him and he was lying in a bed when he fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Stiles wasn’t the only one who reacted badly to Derek coming back. He showed up at a pack meeting a few days later at Lydia’s house, as per Scott’s request. Isaac actually punched Derek in the face before he remembered that once upon a time, Derek had been his alpha, and the older wolf could probably kick his ass into next week if he wanted to. “I had a whole speech planned when I got back, you dick. And you weren’t here to hear it.”

 

“To be fair, you were in Europe when I left,” Derek said. He was smiling, and a second later he had an armful of Isaac.

 

It was when everyone was getting ready to leave that Scott pulled Stiles aside to say quietly, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. He was just pretty adamant about it. I didn’t mean anything by it, really.”

 

“It’s okay.” Stiles caught Derek’s eye from across the room and swallowed hard when he winked at him. “He already told me. I completely blame him for everything.”

 

Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles grinned, and Scott looked at them both with soft affection.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“Oh my god, you’re a werewolf, you’d know if I died,” Stiles groaned as Derek shook him awake for the fourth time that night. “Seriously. Stop. I’m fine. Use your super hearing to listen to my heartbeat, just let me sleep.”

 

Derek ignored him, rolling back onto his side of the bed…and taking the blankets with him. Stiles tugged weakly at them, and when that didn’t work, squirmed closer and plastered himself to Derek’s back. When said back started vibrating, Stiles purposefully shoved his nose into the nape of Derek’s neck. “We’re supposed to be sharing, asshole.” When Derek started laughing harder, audibly now, Stiles shoved him. “I’m telling Scott.”

 

In another second, Stiles was on his other side with an arm wrapped around his waist and the blankets thrown over him. Derek moved him around some more until he was satisfied with the position, and promptly dropped his nose into Stiles’ hair.

 

Stiles very seriously considered how difficult it would be to both escape and take all of the blankets. But when it added up, all it pointed to was his failure. Thirty-year-old born werewolf against Stiles was already against his favor. Put in how he can barely be bothered to move? Definitely wouldn’t work. For a second he wondered what it would take to convince Derek to be the little spoon instead, but the warm line of heat all the way down his back really didn’t seem worth the switch.

 

“Go to sleep,” Derek murmured into his hair, lips brushing where it stopped growing on his neck, and Stiles closed his eyes obediently. He had never minded being the little spoon much anyways.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

As it turned out, Derek had kept in perfect condition during his time away. When Scott asked him if he’d like to join them for pack training and movie nights, he accepted readily, and at that first session, made it clear that he was still one of the strongest werewolves any of them had ever met. Only Scott was a real match for him on his own; Isaac and Liam had to band together to beat him back, and Malia relied on Kira to make a distraction before making her move and jumping onto his back, taking them both to the ground. Between the four of them they managed to pin Derek down. They dissolved into laughter a minute later, and Stiles watched with a soft smile.

 

Lydia nudged him, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that look,” Stiles said softly, but he nodded all the same, and she didn’t have to say anything for him to know that she understood.

 

“Stiles!” Malia called out, and he looked up just in time for Derek to barrel into him. They crashed hard into the dirt, rolling with the momentum, and Stiles managed to get Derek’s wrists under his knees for a split second before Derek surged up with his upper body and bowled Stiles over, landing on top of him.

 

“Isn’t training supposed to be for every member of the pack, Scott?” Derek called without looking away from Stiles. He was grinning. “I thought I was leaving someone capable in charge here.”

 

“It is,” Scott replied, and Stiles took advantage of Derek’s loose grip on his wrists to pull one free and slam it into Derek’s chest. Derek went flying backwards into a tree, and the entire pack erupted into shouts of laughter (except for Lydia, who just smiled smugly.)

 

“What…?”

 

Stiles stood over Derek and smirked. “I’m the emissary.” He watched the werewolf’s eyes light up in recognition at the tone and the words, and when Stiles pulled him up by the hand there was something soft in his eyes. Stiles had to look away before he started wondering what that look meant.

 

Later, when he and Scott were hanging out like they hadn’t been able to since high school, Scott turned to him and said, “Remember when Derek kind of hated us?”

 

“Hated me,” Stiles corrected. “Reluctantly liked you.”

 

“Grudgingly tolerated you,” Scott amended. “Well, he’s looking at you differently now.”

 

“I should hope so,” Stiles snorted. “I’ve saved his life a few times since then.”

 

“No, I mean.” Scott shook his head. “Dude, you were sort of friends before he left the last time. It’s…” He smiled softly. “He looks like you’re something new.”

 

“I mean I’ve changed since he last saw me…” Stiles thought he might get it, but sometimes Scott could still be kind of dense, and he could be saying something entirely different than what it sounded like.

 

Scott glanced over at him. “Dude, he’s looking at you like…like how me and Allison used to.”

 

“He is not.” Stiles laughed, even as his stomach clenched in something that felt like longing and hope all at once. “Your puppy eyes for Allison were more sappy than Isaac’s puppy eyes are all the time. Derek isn’t even capable of eyes like that. The closest he got to that was how he looked at Braeden, and that was more, ‘This girl is ridiculously sexy.’”

 

“Have you noticed that Braeden isn’t here?”

 

“Your head’s in the clouds, Scott.” Stiles flopped back with his hands behind his head. “Speaking of puppy eyes though, when are you proposing to Kira?”

 

The pillow that was thrown at him was totally worth it.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

When Stiles woke up again, the sun was shining dimly through the curtains, and the bed was suspiciously cold behind him. He rolled over and blinked his eyes open. “I’m not your ordinary one-night stand, Derek Hale,” he said as loudly as he could without his voice coming out scratchily. It did anyways, but he was satisfied that Derek heard him when a bark of laughter came from the kitchen.

 

He could walk a little better now that he had had some sleep, but he still felt like he was made of jell-o, which he supposed was an improvement from the noodles of last night. Even so, the stairs were a bitch, taking an embarrassing amount of time and effort. “If you were a one-night stand, you’d be the worst one ever,” Derek said as soon as he shuffled into the kitchen. “What did I get out of it?”

 

“The pleasure of my presence,” Stiles quipped, sitting down at the little corner table.

 

“Oh yes, what a wonderful thing,” Derek said sarcastically, but he was smiling.

 

“You volunteered for this,” Stiles reminded him. “You could’ve taken me to my dad. Or Scott. Pretty much anywhere but here.”

 

Derek shrugged, placing a mug in front of him. Stiles took a tentative sip and hummed in satisfaction. Derek made the perfect tea. “Maybe I wanted to run an experiment. I always did like biology.”

 

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?”

 

“To see if having all of the energy taken out of your body would shut you up.” Derek shook his head in mock sadness. “It’s going exactly as I expected: even near-death doesn’t stop you.”

 

“This shouldn’t be anything new to you.” Stiles readily accepted the plate of eggs and toast handed to him, and went back to watching Derek put things away before eating his own food. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his tattoo flexed between his shoulder with every movement. It had always been sort of intoxicating to Stiles. Even now, he kind of just wanted to press his hand to it and feel how it moved for himself. He looked down at his food when Derek sat across the table from him. He ate quietly, only looking up when he was finished to see Derek watching him with a fond smile. Stiles’ throat went dry and he quickly took another sip of tea to cover the blush spreading up his neck.

 

“So what else did Deaton tell you to do with me?” Stiles said when he felt like he could talk without squeaking or something equally embarrassing.

 

“Well, he didn’t tell me to _do_ anything with you,” Derek said, raising an eyebrow. Stiles looked away and Derek chuckled. “Keep you down, mostly. You aren’t supposed to do anything too strenuous.”

 

“Define ‘too strenuous.’”

 

“Anything that requires more energy than walking up and down stairs.”

 

Stiles scowled at his empty plate. “Anything else?”

 

“Yeah, he said you have to do everything I tell you to for the next three weeks.” Derek grinned. He looked proud of himself for that one.

 

“In your dreams,” Stiles scoffed, standing a little unsteadily to clean his plate. Derek was up in an instant, taking it from him and nudging him gently toward the adjoining living room. He considered protesting, but he was already worn out from the small amount of activity he had already done that morning, and chose instead to settle onto the couch with a blanket and wait for Derek there.

 

It didn’t take long. “Are you allergic to shirts or something?” Stiles commented when Derek chose to sit down so that there was almost no space left between them at all, tugging half of the blanket over himself as well. Stiles was torn between snuggling closer and trying to move away, because Derek was like a space heater, but he was also half naked, and there were boundaries in place…or at least there were supposed to be.

 

“Or something,” Derek answered, turning to wink at him. To wink at him. At Stiles. He didn’t seem to notice the sudden internal crisis that Stiles was suddenly having and continued. “It’s my house, I can do what I want.”

 

“Is that the logic now?” Stiles snarked. “It used to be, ‘Oh hey, the sheriff’s son’s window is open, let’s just climb on in there and make him harbor a fugitive.’”

 

“It was one time.” Derek slung an arm around Stiles and took away the option of shifting away by tucking him firmly into his side, wrapping the blanket more firmly around the both of them. “And it was your fault. I figured it was your responsibility to deal with it.”

 

“You know, Scott’s actually the one who pinned all the stuff in the high school on you,” Stiles told him.

 

“I knew it.”

 

They watched almost all of West Side Story by the time Stiles began to fall asleep again, cocooned the heat that radiated off of Derek and the soothing feeling of fingers tapping against his shoulder.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“I used to think having you grow up and want to be a cop like me would be the scariest thing for me,” Sheriff Stilinski admitted late one evening while he wrapped up Stiles’ left arm, where a bullet had grazed by on its way to Kira’s heart. “Then I learned about the supernatural being real, and that you were in a pack of werewolves and…and everything else that you kids are. I got a little hope back when you went to college. I figured you’d like the new place and want to go explore some more, but then you came back. You all came back. And now your day job is teaching college students about the supernatural, and at night you fight it.” He sighed, taping it up. “I never imagined your life would turn out like this.”

 

“Neither did I,” Stiles admitted, bending his elbow experimentally and only wincing a little. “But you have to admit, you can’t really blame anyone but me for it. I’m the one who dragged Scott to find a dead body. It would’ve been pretty shitty of me to just abandon him just because he grew some claws and fangs once a month.” He shrugged. “I’m happy, Dad. Even with everything that’s happened to us.”

 

His dad smiled a little. “So it looks like Derek is really sticking around this time.”

 

“The land is his, technically,” Stiles said. “Well, his and Scott’s now, I suppose.”

 

“He didn’t come back for Beacon Hills.” The sheriff continued to pack up the first aid kit he kept in the kitchen. “He came back for the people. For you guys.” He looked up at Stiles. “You’re his family now. More than Peter was after the fire, I think. You helped him heal. You and the rest of your pack.”

 

Stiles shrugged. “He’s done some pretty good things for us too,” he said quietly. He purposely avoided his dad’s quiet smile, because he knew what that face meant, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront it yet. Ever, maybe.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t quite a week by the time Stiles was up and about again, almost back to normal. He went back to work, catching his students up on the two lectures they had missed as a result of his “sudden illness” as he vaguely referred to it when they asked. One girl in particular seemed more concerned than was really merited for the situation. She stayed back after to talk to him for a few minutes about a paper he had assigned a couple of weeks before everything that went down with the wendigo, and she passed Derek on her way out.

 

“What’s so funny?” Stiles asked, pulling some papers together.

 

“She has a thing for you,” Derek responded, still grinning. He’d insisted on driving Stiles to work for a couple of days, just to make sure he would be okay. Isaac teased him about being a dad when the pack discussed taking turns getting Stiles where he needed to go and Derek shot them all down. Malia had muttered something about an overly concerned husband, but Stiles had firmly ignored that.

 

“She does—she does not.” Stiles stared at him in disbelief as he sat down in Stiles’ swivel chair. “I’m a teacher, that automatically gives out the unattractive vibes.”

 

“Stiles, you’re twenty-four. You’re not using a cane as a pointer for your power points.”

 

He stopped dead, turning to look at Derek. “Shit.”

 

Derek looked way too pleased with himself. “You should go for it,” he suggested, grinning when Stiles stumbled over his own feet. He caught him by the forearms until Stiles could get his balance back and…didn’t let go.

 

“She’s eighteen,” Stiles said, eyebrows furrowing. “That’s just wrong.”

 

“It’ll stop looking so wrong when she turns twenty and you’ve known her for a couple of years.”

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Speaking from experience?”

 

Derek stood up and let his hands slip away from Stiles’ arms to grab his briefcase. “Maybe.”

 

“I always knew you were a total creeper. That why you spent so much time in the boy’s locker room? Or why your best friends were all teenagers when you met them?”

 

“I don’t have any friends.”

 

“Bullshit.” Stiles grinned and Derek’s lips twitched as he started guiding Stiles toward the exit. “You’ve got me.”

 

When they walked out, the girl was still hanging around the parking lot, talking on her phone. She glanced up immediately when Stiles and Derek walked out, but then her face fell and she turned to get into her car. Derek hid a laugh in Stiles’ hair, bumping their shoulders.

 

“Leave her alone, asshole,” Stiles mumbled. “How much you want to bet it’s you she has a crush on and not me?”

 

“God, you’re oblivious.” Derek was smiling the whole way home, and when Stiles invited him in for dinner, followed him straight inside like it had been his plan all along. Stiles tried really hard not to be too happy about that, but he had to hide a smile behind his hand when Derek slung his legs across Stiles’ lap and lay back on the couch, completely relaxed.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“So when’s the wedding?” Scott asked after a pack meeting about a year after Derek got back.

 

Stiles punched him in the shoulder.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“Alright, I know I didn’t really try to keep contact with any of you when I left, but I kind of thought, that I’d still be informed about shit that went down here because like an idiot I still care about you jerkoffs!”

 

“You’re calling _us_ jerkoffs?” Stiles said in disbelief.

 

“Shut it, Stilinski, I’m not finished,” Jackson growled. His eyes flashed blue for a second. “First of all, none of you thought to maybe give a call and say, ‘Hey, Jackson, Allison’s dead, she died fighting an evil spirit thing that possessed goddamn Stiles?’ I know I was a major dick to her before I left but I didn’t know what I was doing, that fucker Matt did that shit to me! She was a friend, and I have to find out from Danny?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just barreled right on, and no one interrupted him again. Lydia had sent a mass text telling them to meet her on the old Hale property, and by the time Stiles arrived, Jackson was almost calm, getting Malia and Kira and Liam’s names before going off on a rampage. Everything he said was like a punch in the gut, and by the time he was finished, he was breathing heavily and the entire pack looked guilty, except for Malia, who was staring at him with one eyebrow raised and an expression that clearly said, “Who the hell is this guy?” Stiles would tell her later.

 

After a long silence, he said, “So is that all? Or is there something else I didn’t hear about?”

 

“Well, Scott’s sort of the alpha now,” Isaac said quietly. “Uh, I went to France for awhile. Derek was in South America for a few years. Malia’s a werecoyote, not a wolf, and Kira’s a kitsune. She can do stuff with electricity, it’s kind of cool.”

 

“How the hell can there be two alphas in one pack?” Jackson demanded, eyes darting between Derek and Scott in question. Stiles decided not to remind him about the alpha pack.

 

In answer, Derek let his eyes turn blue for a second. “I gave it up to save my little sister.”

 

“Your family’s dead,” Jackson said bluntly.

 

Lydia was the only one standing close enough to punch him in the shoulder. “Derek’s not the only one who got away, asshole.”

 

Jackson shifted guiltily on his feet. “Sorry.” After another long, awkward silence, he sighed. “Right. So let me get this all straight. Scott’s the alpha, Liam is the only one he bit, and that was an accident, right?” When Liam and Scott both nodded, he rolled his eyes. “How the hell do you accidentally bite someone, McCall?” He went on without a response. “Alright, so you…Malia? You spent eight years as a coyote? And you’re a Japanese electricity goddess or something?”

 

“Kitsune,” Kira corrected him, but he didn’t seem to care enough to linger.

 

“And you’re a banshee?” he asked Lydia. At her confirmation, he finally turned to Stiles. “So what are you, Stilinski? You’re surrounded by supernatural creatures of all kind, I assume you’re part of the pack. So what are you? Vampire? Big foot?”

 

“I’m an emissary,” Stiles said calmly. “Deaton taught me how to use magic.”

 

Jackson scoffed. “Yeah right. That shit isn’t real.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes and made a sweeping motion with his hand. Jackson sprawled out on the ground as if he’d been hit by a lacrosse player. “Yeah, he’s kind of important to us,” Derek said in amusement as Jackson stood up and brushed himself off with a slight tinge of red in his cheeks.

 

“Now we can all stand here and yell at each other some more,” Malia said, “or we can order a pizza and have a movie day like we originally planned to do before this jackass showed up and ruined the party. So which is it?”

 

They all turned to trudge back to their vehicles. Derek tossed Isaac his keys and climbed into the Jeep with Stiles, and that was when Jackson said, “Oh yeah. And how long have you two been a thing?”

 

Stiles dropped his car keys when he realized Jackson was looking at him.

 

Lydia whispered something in Jackson’s ear that made him burst out laughing, and Derek’s face became closed off as he slammed the door shut.

 

“Shit, sorry Stilinski.” Jackson smirked and climbed into his—god dammit—corvette.

 

Stiles picked up his keys and got into the Jeep with Derek, and the whole awkward way home he thought about how Jackson really hadn’t changed.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“Kira!”

 

Lydia’s shriek was enough to send Stiles bolting into Kira and Scott’s little apartment, half-afraid that he was going to find someone lying dead on the floor.

 

What he found was Lydia jumping up and down in excitement while Kira smiled softly. “Fuck, Lydia, don’t scream like that,” he gasped, clutching his chest in relief. “What’s up with you two?”

 

“Look!” Lydia exclaimed, grabbing Kira’s hand and dragging it to eye level. On a delicate silver band, a black gemstone was set, just barely bigger in width than the ring itself. “Scott proposed!”

 

Stiles grinned. “I know. I have it on video.”

 

Lydia looked absolutely offended, and Kira’s jaw dropped. “What—but I didn’t see you!”

 

“I was hiding in a tree,” Stiles explained. “I also helped pick the ring. Symbolism and all that.” The tourmaline shone dully in the artificial light of the living room.

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Lydia blurted out.

 

“Scott didn’t want to take any chances.” He dodged her punch. “Speaking of Scott, where is he? I’ve got to give him the DVD.”

 

“He’s at work,” Kira said, looking back at her ring like she couldn’t quite believe it was there. “But, uh…I’ll take the DVD for you.”

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re going to watch it without him.”

 

“Of course she won’t,” Lydia said dismissively. “But I will.”

 

“Not a chance,” Stiles said, holding it protectively to his chest. “I’ve gotta run, I’m meeting Dad for lunch. Congratulations, Kira,” he said with a genuine smile.

 

“Thanks Stiles.” She was smiling too.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

It was a rogue.

 

Malia had caught a scent she didn’t recognize earlier in the week, and the pack had been scouring the territory for two days now when there was time, trying to figure out what it was.

 

Of course they found it at night, because their luck was shit, and despite having a personal relationship with magic, it refused to be manipulated in any way that would enhance human senses beyond what was considered natural. So Stiles had the eyesight, the hearing, the sense of smell of a human that hadn’t felt the ravages of age just yet. But he still couldn’t see in the dark, and even with the moon almost full tonight, there were too many shadows.

 

He heard it before he saw it, a low growling in the trees to his left. He whirled around just as Derek darted in front of him, catching the bundle of fur and twisted features with his whole body. They fell back with a sickening crunch, and Derek was suddenly very still, whining high in his throat.

 

“No!” Stiles tore forward, throwing himself at the rogue, who was about to close its teeth over Derek’s throat. Its eyes were yellow when it turned to Stiles, but he caught it with enough force to shove it off of Derek. “ _Ne cor_!” he yelled desperately as it lunged for his face. It crashed into him and he fell back as lightly as he could, forcing his feet up to send it shooting over his head. He felt the moment its heart stopped beating, felt the wave of death through his own body, and shivered horribly as it went limp. For a second his body wasn’t his own; it was the rogue’s as it took its last breath.

 

He wanted to just lie still until the horrible taste of ashes left his mouth, but Derek was groaning a few feet away, and the sound of bone snapping echoed in his head stronger than that of the wolf. He heaved himself to his knees and crawled forward until he could cradle Derek’s head in his lap. “Stiles,” Derek gasped. His muscles were twitching all along his body like he was straining to move and just couldn’t. “Stiles.”

 

“Shh, shh, you’ll be okay, you’re healing,” Stiles whispered, bending over so that his forehead touched Derek’s, but he could see the unnatural curve of his body where it shouldn’t, and he was terrified. He closed his eyes so he could concentrate on feeling Derek, letting a little bit of himself seep closer until he could feel the horrible numbness that encompassed his entire body. His spinal cord had snapped when his ribs were dislodged and shoved back into his body, shredding through a lung and both of his kidneys.

 

He wasn’t healing.

 

“Stiles, look at me,” Derek murmured, eyes fluttering hazily. “It’s okay.”

 

“Shut up, Derek.” He wasn’t dying. Stiles wasn’t about to feel him die too, and he would if Derek did, with the way he was reaching out with magic to feel every part that was broken. “Just…just shut up.”

 

“Stiles—”

 

And then he let out a shout, because Stiles drew upon the energy of the forest around him and focused it on that broken cord, threading it back together until he couldn’t feel even the smallest break in it anymore. He felt shaky, like he might pass out, because after using magic to kill the rogue, it was too soon to try to do anything of this scale. Maybe ever. But he knew that if he could just repair his kidney and get his ribs back in place, Derek would be able to heal the rest on his own.

 

He could hear movement all around him as the pack burst out of the trees. Lydia hadn’t screamed yet, or at least he didn’t think she had; his hearing was phasing in and out. He used all of his willpower to slowly shift Derek’s ribs back, doubled over Derek with the effort of it all, and he barely noticed when Isaac and Scott both got down on either side of them to pin Derek down when he started thrashing in agony.

 

His vision was whiting out when a hand came up and clamped down over his, pulling it down over Derek’s heart. “Stiles.”

 

The magic released with a loud crack that everyone heard, and it coiled tightly inside of Stiles’ chest before whiplashing out and into the forest. Kira fell to her knees as the excess energy rushed past her, and Liam’s mouth opened into a howl that reverberated through the air, and Stiles slumped forward over Derek and let everything fade.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

_“When do you think you started to love Derek?”_

 

_“I can’t remember. Maybe before he left. Maybe after. I don’t know when. I just know that I do.”_

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

“You were supposed to teach him about the dangers of all of this! First with the wendigo, now this…Deaton, he’s almost died twice in three months!” Anxiety, turned into fear, covered by rage.

 

“I did teach him.” Calm, patient. “He knows of the consequences of his actions. He knew what it would do to him to mend you like that if he ever had to. I never thought he would try to wipe someone from existence the way he did because it is impractical. But one day he was bound to feel like there was only one choice left, so I taught him how to do it. How to try, because if I hadn’t, he would’ve learned somewhere else. And that way, he knew the safest way to do it.”

 

“ _Safe_? None of that was safe! I could—I could feel him losing energy, I could feel him _dying_! And he was—it was all entering in through me and I couldn’t stop him doing it because I couldn’t _move_!”

 

“You couldn’t have stopped him if you tried. The magic was his to release, and his alone.”

 

“You don’t get it, do you Derek?” A softer tone, feminine. “You’re his to save. You have been for a long time, since you got back.”

 

A sigh, and there’s a hand in his hair, gentle, familiar like an ache in his chest. “You think I don’t know that?”

 

The voices fade away, but the fingers weaving into his hair stay, and he clings to it until he’s pulled under again.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

_“You ever going to tell him?”_

 

_“I don’t think so. We’re friends. That’s good for him.”_

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

There’s a hand holding his and a nose pushed into his hair, breathing deeply in sleep. He wants to squeeze the fingers that are interlocked in his, but he’s already holding on as tightly as he can.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

_“What about you, Stiles? Is that enough for you?”_

 

_“_ _He’s happy. That’s enough for me.”_

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

He really should’ve figured that Derek would be a self-sacrificing bastard and give Stiles his bed and then sleep in a chair next to him. Although, considering the bags under Derek’s eyes, the sleep was probably a more recent thing. Stiles smiled fondly. _Idiot_.

 

There was a glass of water on the side table, and Stiles reached for it as carefully as he could so as not to wake Derek. He got as far as bringing the glass to his lips, but at the sound of water sloshing into his mouth and being swallowed was enough to make Derek stir. Stiles was setting the glass back down when he opened his eyes, slowly, like he was afraid to.

 

“Morning sunshine,” Stiles whispered, a little hoarsely, but there wasn’t the same bone-deep exhaustion that he’d had when he’d destroyed the wendigo, so he counted it as a victory. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was actually just past one in the morning. “Well. Maybe a little early for that.”

 

Derek dropped his head onto the bedspread. “Dammit, Stiles.”

 

“I think you mean ‘thank you,’ but close enough. We’ll work on it.”

 

Derek let out a breath like a sob.

 

Stiles became aware of the footsteps thundering up the stairs and bursting into Derek’s room at the sound. Isaac spotted him first, carefully pushing himself up to sit against the pillows. Then the rest of the pack, even Jackson (who’d stuck around for reasons Stiles couldn’t figure out—but probably because of Lydia) stumbled into the room and all eyes zeroed in on Stiles, who had reached out to curl a hand into Derek’s hair, and Derek, who was shaking.

 

“I knew it,” Lydia said softly, with a brilliant smile.

 

A choked laugh came from Derek and he lifted his head slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I should’ve listened to you,” he replied hoarsely. He looked at Stiles properly for the first time. “She’s always right, isn’t she?”

 

“Usually,” Stiles murmured.

 

Scott flopped down next to him to hug him tightly for a moment before bounding back up. “Come on guys, we need to tell the sheriff. Tell him and my mom that they can stop drowning themselves in their work.”

 

Stiles didn’t see why it would take seven people to inform two people about this new development, but he was distracted when Derek turned his head so that Stiles was cupping his cheek instead, and closed his eyes, leaning into it. “C’mere, big guy,” he murmured, tugging gently with his other hand. “You need to get some real sleep.”

 

Derek didn’t protest, climbed in beside Stiles and buried his nose in his hair and just inhaled. “Don’t ever do that again,” he mumbled, words muffled.

 

“If I hadn’t you’d be dead,” Stiles told him, lying back down as best as he could when a two hundred pound werewolf was determinedly wrapping around him like an octopus. “And now we’re both here. See? Everyone wins.”

 

“You almost died, asshole.”

 

“I knew what I was doing.” Stiles gazed at him steadily. “I always do.”

 

Derek sighed, and turned Stiles so that he could press his nose into the back of his neck and place a hand over his heart. Stiles twined their fingers together, and felt it when Derek’s chest began to rise and fall in sleep.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

_“But Stiles, are you happy?”_

 

_Stiles smiled a little sadly. “More than I was. I’m just glad he’s home.”_

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

As it turned out, Stiles had only been in a magically-induced coma for a week. Deaton admitted that pouring that much of himself into Derek, actually connecting with him on a level that was beyond the physical plane to locate his injuries and put him back together, should have killed him. Had Stiles not done it, Derek would be dead.

 

Stiles was back on his feet the very next day, after waking up so tangled up with Derek that it was impossible to move without waking him up. His father and Melissa were waiting downstairs, and the rest of the pack arrived soon after with food and decorations for what they called the, “Stiles Isn’t Dead!” party. Stiles watched Derek the whole time, positive he would complain considering the fact that his house hadn’t been empty of people in a week, but he was smiling the whole time, and every time he was near enough to Stiles he would squeeze his wrist, or brush his fingers across the back of his neck, touching like he had to make sure it wasn’t all a dream.

 

Stiles was waiting for the inevitable though. The last time he had risked his life, Derek had really gotten upset with him over it. He’d waited until Stiles was better to start that argument (because Stiles had to be able to fight back or it wasn’t fair) and now may be the wrong time, but he was sure that once the place cleared out, they would be at it again despite the fact that Stiles would win (he always won.)

 

But that didn’t happen. When the party began winding down late into the night (because the sheriff and Melissa had been overworking themselves for days), Derek wrapped a hand lightly around Stiles’ arm to keep him back. He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched as everyone slowly trickled out, accepting every hug like he had been all day and telling Scott to make sure his dad got home alright. Then it was just him and Derek.

 

He took a deep breath, turning around and leaning his hip against the counter so he could look him in the eye. “Alright big guy. Lay it on me. I’m ready.”

 

“Well, finally.” Derek chuckled and stepped closer so he could wind his fingers into Stiles’ hair and tilt his head, and kissed him with all of the confidence in the world. A low sound built in the back of Stiles’ throat, but Derek muffled it and a full-body shiver went all the way through Stiles and he lifted a hand to Derek’s waist, uncertainly, like he wasn’t allowed. Then Derek whined low in his throat and shuddered against Stiles, and he just reached out and pulled him all the way there, opening his mouth without a second thought.

 

Derek was the one who broke it. “Thank you,” he whispered.

 

“For what?” Stiles could feel his hands shaking, so he slipped his hands under Derek’s shirt to grip his hips hard, to make them stop.

 

“Saving me.” Derek’s eyes shone and he pressed another kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. “Now thank me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“For saving you, stupid.”

 

Stiles choked on a laugh and caught Derek’s mouth again, and when neither of them could breathe anymore, he leaned his forehead to Derek’s temple and let the werewolf nudge his face into his neck. It felt like home. Like a promise.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

_Scott glanced over at Derek from the doorway to his room. Derek looked up from where he had his mouth pressed to the back of Stiles’ hand, wrapped up in both of his own. “He any better?” Scott asked softly._

 

_“He’s actually sleeping now, according to Deaton,” Derek answered. “He should wake up soon.”_

 

_Scott nodded, and stepped a little closer. “Can I ask you something?” A moment later, “How long have you loved him?”_

 

_Derek turned his eyes back to the still form on his bed, focusing on the heartbeat that had been growing slowly stronger for hours now. “Since I came back,” he said quietly. He smiled a little. “I think maybe he’s why I did.”_


End file.
